


Skin Deep

by WritingQuill



Series: Prompts et al [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Developing Relationship, Everyone thinks Sherlock is pretty, First Time, Fluff, M/M, POV John Watson, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:20:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1254337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingQuill/pseuds/WritingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times John realised Sherlock was beautiful, and one time he told Sherlock about it. </p><p>written for <a href="http://olivef87.tumblr.com/">olivef87</a> on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin Deep

**Author's Note:**

> Long overdue prompt fill for [olivef87](http://olivef87.tumblr.com/) who asked for "five times John overheard people discussing Sherlock's attractiveness and one time Sherlock overheard John discussing how attractive he found Sherlock" - I hope you like it :D 
> 
> Also, title comes from the Dorothy Parker quote: "Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone."

**One**

John had been living with Sherlock for a week, and his life was already upside down. The detective always seemed to be working on cases and doing crazy experiments in the kitchen, which in turn made John’s life exciting than it had been since he was shot. 

In the middle of the night Sherlock got a call from Lestrade about a case involving a murder in a locked room and a bathtub filled with small yellow rubber ducks. So far it was all confusing, though with John’s expertise they managed to conclude that the victim hadn’t been strangled but poisoned, and so they’d been in the lab at St Bart’s for the past six hours, John nearly bored to tears, and Sherlock looking through microscopes and test tubes, and running all sorts of machines, trying to figure out _something_. 

The door opened, and John looked back to find Molly walking in the room holding a steaming mug. He guessed black and two sugars, probably for Sherlock, even though he never actually asked for it. She shot him a quick, mousy smiled, and walked towards Sherlock, who paid her no attention as she placed the mug next to his papers. 

‘I got you some coffee, Sherlock,’ she stammered quietly, being further ignored. With another quick smiled, she walked over to John’s side, eyes still glued to Sherlock’s face. She sighed. 

‘He’s not going to drink it, you know,’ John said. For the life of him, he could not understand Molly’s crush on Sherlock. He was abrasive at best, irritable, rude, and just plain mean towards her. Of course, Sherlock was brilliant, and funny, and absolutely charming when he wanted to be, but rarely towards people he didn’t want to use, or John. John eyed her with a frown. ‘What do you see in him?’ he asked. Molly shrugged. 

‘He’s brilliant,’ she said. ‘His mind works in ways I can barely understand,’ she said quietly. Well, that John could understand. Sherlock’s mind was an absolute wonder, but Molly went on, ‘and he’s so gorgeous!’ she ended with a giggle, looked at her watch. ‘Oh dear, I have to go. Bye, John.’ She walked out with a last look at Sherlock, leaving John to his musings. Sherlock, gorgeous? John looked at his flatmate, and wondered. High cheekbones, dark curly hair, harsh frown, set jaw (not a particularly _strong_ jaw, but not weak either), small nose, piercing eyes. Those features on anyone else would probably not work, but somehow on Sherlock they _did_. His looks were as interesting as the man himself, and John admitted to himself that maybe Molly was onto something. 

Then Sherlock gasped and they were off again, now-cold mug of coffee abandoned. 

 

**Two**

Mrs Holly Cavanaugh thought her husband was cheating on her. Which was ironic, considering the looks she was giving Sherlock. 

The woman was in her late fifties, graceful, taller than John, with long dark auburn hair stuck in a bun, and dark eyes. She was dressed and coiffed to perfection, but still there was something _off_ about her. Sherlock probably thought the same, because he rarely took cheating-husband cases unless he really needed the money, and they’d just solved a major break-in case for a very important politician whose identity shall remain undisclosed for legal reasons. 

As Sherlock leant back on his chair with his fingers steepled, looking intently at Mrs Cavanaugh, she sat on the wooden chair between the armchairs, legs crossed, clutching her Louis Vuitton bag on her lap, and eyeing Sherlock’s thighs with a sort of wistful look John had only seen on thirsty men in the desert. 

‘So you think your husband is cheating on you,’ Sherlock said after about fifteen minutes of awkward silence. Mrs Cavanaugh seemed startled before she looked ip. 

‘Hm, yes! He gets home late every evening, and went on no less than four business trips in the past two months,’ she said, shrill voiced and wide-eyed. Sherlock hummed. John had offered to make tea, but no one had accepted, so now he could only sit and watch Sherlock work from his chair. Sherlock crossed his legs, and John moved watch Mrs Cavanaugh instead, and how she herself was watching his flatmate. She had hungry eyes, licking her lips every few minutes, as she looked intently between Sherlock’s legs, his hands, and his face. Curious. Though John supposed after Molly, it wasn’t hard to imagine that Sherlock would have that effect on women. Especially since these women didn’t live with him, and didn’t actually have to wake up to a fridge filled with toes. 

Sherlock took out his phone from his pocket and started flicking through it, probably going through the internet looking for Mr Cavanaugh. So John decided to go make some tea, because so far he had no idea what would come of this case. 

He’d been gone two minutes when he head a slapping sound coming from the living room. Mrs Cavanaugh was putting on her coat angrily and nearly growling at Sherlock. 

‘You freak!’ she shrieked before darting out of the room and slamming the door shut. John raised his eyebrows and stared at the closed door, then at Sherlock. 

‘What happened?’ he asked. 

Sherlock’s face was nearly comical. His eyes were wide and there was a large red bruise on his left right cheek. He cleared his throat before replying. 

‘She tried to touch my knee and I told her that I knew she was trying to make it seem like her husband was cheating at her because in her pre-nuptial agreement it stated that if any of the parties committed adultery, the other would get all the money and assets. She knew that her husband already suspected of her _own_ affair with a younger man, so she decided to beat him to the punch and accuse him to having an affair with another women. Of course, the man is as loyal as a stupid dog, and has been working on a merger in his company for the past two months. After I finished, she slapped me and left.’ 

John couldn’t help but laugh. So the woman had appreciated Sherlock’s form, but once he opened his mouth, it all went to hell. Seemed accurate enough. 

‘Come on, I’ll get some ice for your cheek,’ he said in between chuckles, and they went to the kitchen. 

 

**Three**

Sherlock squirmed for the third time in his seat. John was about to lose it. 

‘Would you stop? It’s your own fault for forgetting to take your clothes to the dry-cleaners.’ 

‘I thought you were supposed to remember these things!’ Sherlock argued, adjusting himself for the fourth time, trying to get comfortable in the jeans he almost never wore, but which were his last clean pair of trousers left. 

‘Contrary to popular belief, I am not actually your PA. Or your housewife. Or your housekeeper. I’m your flatmate and friend, so it really isn’t my job to take care of your dirty laundry, Sherlock,’ John explained, rolling his eyes at his ridiculous flatmate. He seemed even more uncomfortable because it wasn’t cold enough for his Belstaff, so he had to go with just a jacket. John himself was only in a light cardigan and button-down shirt, and jeans. He liked warm days like these, unlike Sherlock who was probably ready to make it snow through sheer force of will so he could get into his comfort zone. ‘Look, we’ll check the crime scene, you’ll be brilliant, we’ll leave, go home, and you can put on your pyjamas again, then tomorrow your clothes will be back, nice and clean for your to sulk in, okay.’ 

Sherlock merely grumbled and sank further into his seat.

*

Ten minutes later, they arrived at the crime scene in Burgess Park. Sherlock jumped out of the cab leaving John to pay the fare, and then they walked together to where the Met was gathered behind the police tape. In the middle of the BMX park, there were two dead boys, couldn’t be older than sixteen, lying in a large pool of blood. 

‘Do you need my help?’ John asked, as they approached the tape. Sherlock looked around and shook his head.  
‘Not yet. I’ll call if need be,’ he said, and John nodded, glad not to have to approach the dead bodies. Some bodies hit him more than others — always the children. Reminded him too much of being stationed in Kandahar, and he could not without the triggers. 

So Sherlock walked alone to where Lestrade was standing near the bodies, and John stood by a police car, where he heard a quiet whistle. Looking around, he saw it’d been a young Constable, PC Carlysle, if he remembered correctly. She was looking at Sherlock. More precisely, she was ogling Sherlock’s backside, along with her companion, PC Hendricks. Both women were giggling to themselves and occasionally staring at Sherlock’s bum, which made John roll his eyes. 

Well, until he noticed that it seemed a trend around the crime scene that day. Most female officers, and quite a lot male ones as well, were staring at Sherlock instead of doing their job. He looked particularly casual today, and the lack of Belstaff make him look more… human, somehow, which in turn got him all the positive attention. 

‘Has Anderson finally managed to make you all even more stupid just by being in the vicinity? Can anyone do their jobs around here?’ barked Sherlock, as he looked around, fuming. Everyone went back to their work positions, and Sherlock stomped towards John. 

‘Got a clue?’ asked John, amused by how much the younger officers seemed to fear Sherlock’s wrath. 

‘Yes, come,’ Sherlock said, and John followed him as they walked back out of the park to hail a cab. 

 

**Four**

The music was loud on their ears as they ordered drinks at the bar. John could hardly see anything with the flickering colourful LED lights that kept moving to the beat of the music. Even though it seemed to be “retro” night, and John knew a few of the songs that had played, he still felt terribly uncomfortable as men pressed themselves against him to go to the dance floor, which took him back to when he was nineteen, and Harry took him to Manchester to show him the “gay party life” for a weekend. 

Sherlock told him to go to the other end of the bar and watch out, as he himself went to the part closer to the dance floor, where he’d have more actual access to people. John was just fine with just watching, since everyone here seemed to be far younger than he was anyway. She sipped his Corona with a grimace (he hated it, but it was the only _non-fashionable_ beverage in the entire menu), and watched Sherlock turn himself into the Party Sherlock character. Along with the clothes he was wearing, tight skinny jeans, leather ankle boots and an almost see-through white T shirt, he had his eyes closed as his head bobbed to the beat, leaning against the counter, sipping his drink slowly. Clearly looking to flirt. John felt a shiver go through his spine, but ignored it in favour of keeping his watch. 

Multiple men were ogling Sherlock, who, admittedly, was looking quite amazing tonight. Not that he wasn’t always — John had come to terms with that fact that his flatmate was a drop-dead gorgeous man, nothing to be done about it — but tonight he was _something_. 

A tall guy, mid-twenties, peroxide blond hair, walked up to Sherlock and eyed him up. He whispered something in Sherlock’s ear, and Sherlock smiled. They started talking, heads together. John wasn’t sure _what_ exactly they were doing in this club, but giving that Sherlock was actually paying attention to Billy Idol over there, John assumed he was involved somehow. 

John was always astounded as he watched Sherlock act one of his roles, but he also liked to see how people reacted to these different Sherlocks. He looked the same, and yet, there were different reactions each time. Tonight, he was giving off a kind of vibe that just got flocks of men to navigate towards him, until the right one arrived (Captain Peroxide over there). 

He frowned as the man ran a hand through Sherlock’s throat and said something that made Sherlock nod. The two of them abandoned their drinks and walked away, which John took it as a cue to follow. They went to an alleyway outside the club, and after that the night was full of chases across narrow street and near-misses. 

 

**Five**

 

After Captain Peroxide (aka Louis McTavish) got arrested and taken by the police, John and Sherlock had to go in the New Scotland Yard to give their statements and fill out some forms. John, as always, finished his sooner because he didn’t get bored after every second line, like Sherlock did, so he went out to have a glass of water and wait outside the office for Sherlock so they could go home. He was terribly thirsty after all the running and fighting, especially in such uncomfortable clubbing clothes. Filling his third cup of water, he heard some voices in the cubicle behind him. 

‘… and it’s just so unfair because someone that awful should _not_ look that good!’ a male voice said. John didn’t recognise it, but the following one he knew very well. 

‘I know! Remember a few weeks ago, the BMX park case? With the jeans?’ Sally Donovan added, with a small groan at the end. ‘Terrible people should look terrible, but then Sherlock bloody Holmes waltzes in looking like a model from the Calvin Klein catalogue! He can still look better than any guy I ever went out with, and he’s wearing jeans and a T shirt, for crying out loud!’ 

‘Yeah, but those skinny jeans make him look like sex on legs, though,’ said the male voice. Gay, then. Well, maybe bi — John wasn’t about to throw labels around, since he himself hadn’t been too sure lately. 

Despite all Donovan said about Sherlock, she still found him good-looking. Though John supposed it was the norm. He was nice to look at, but as soon as he opened his mouth, people went running. Which was odd, since John loved the way Sherlock thought, he even found his personality endearing and amusing. He was a bit too much sometimes, but so is everyone, in a way, Sherlock is just blunt and blatantly honest always, which is good. Why dance around subjects and lie, when you can just tell the truth and be done with it? With a sigh, John downed the last of his water, and went back to Lestrade’s office to see if Sherlock was finished. 

 

 **And one**

They lay next to each other, shoulders brushing, panting loudly and glowing with sweat. Sherlock rolled over and threw a hand over John’s chest, then buried his face on his neck and breathed in.  
‘I still can’t quite believe this happened,’ John said, wrapping Sherlock in his arms. He pressed a kiss on top of that curly head and sighed in contentment. 

‘What do you mean?’ Sherlock asked, though his voice was slightly muffled by John’s shoulder. 

‘Well, you’re _you_ , and I’m _me_ … This is just far, far, beyond my wildest dreams, to be honest,’ he added with a chuckle. Sherlock lifted himself up on his forearms. He wore a frown. 

‘That makes no sense.’ 

‘Oh, come on, Sherlock! You’re extraordinary, beautiful, wonderful, and I’m just the average guy. We’re mismatched, but it’s a good thing.’ 

Sherlock seemed to ponder on those words. He hummed and set his head on top of John’s shoulder again. ‘Beautiful?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

Sherlock snorted. 

‘What, like you don’t know how good-looking you are?’ 

‘Oh, please, John. I do not look good, I can pose myself in a way that is more confident and thusly more attractive to the people I want to notice me.’ 

‘Nope. Wrong,’ John poked him on the side and Sherlock smirked. ‘You’re beautiful. When you’re sulking in your pyjamas and dressing gown, when you’re covered in dust from that experience in the cellar, when you’re covered in mud from that time we ran down that bouncer near the Thames, even when you’re yelling at other people, and you’re frowning. You’re beautiful when you’re concentrating on one task and not on anything else, and when you’re sleeping on the sofa, drooling on the pillow. That’s just who you are, and I can’t believe I’m allowed to touch you and to be with you like this, because in my entire life I’ve never been with someone so stunning, so amazing in every way.’ 

Sherlock looked up at him again. His cheeks were flushed and he seemed to be out of words, so he pressed a kiss to the corner of John’s lips. 

‘For argument’s sake,’ Sherlock said, running his finger across John’s chest and playing with the sparse blond chest hair, ‘I happen to think you are quite beautiful yourself.’ 

John grinned. He pulled Sherlock closer and kissed him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed this, please let me know what you think. 
> 
> As always, I do take prompts, so hop in my [ask box](http://writingquill.tumblr.com/ask) if you like. And check out my [blog](http://bagginswatson.tumblr.com) if you feel like it. 
> 
>  
> 
> Cheers x
> 
> P.S.: I hope you picked up on the little _Buffy_ references I threw in there ;)


End file.
